Bitter Rain
by Arrod
Summary: Boromir and Faramir travel to Imladris accompanied by their Uncle Imrahil, who they soon learn is merely acting as their guide. This story follows their adventures in Imladris as they learn to live among the Elves. AU Pre-FOTR.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This work of fan fiction has been revised, as I have improved in writing (or so I hope) since my last update in May of 2008. Therefore, you may or may not notice that I have combined my first two chapters into an uninteresting, but necessary, prologue. You may read it, or skim through it if you wish, but all that really matters is the end. Anyway, if you've even bothered to read this far I might as well tell you that this story is about young Boromir and Faramir going to Rivendell and their experiences there. This is entirely AU. Read, review, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all of the characters within belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Bitter Rain: Prologue

He sat quietly in his chambers, curled up in a corner and clutching a book with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the pages vacantly, sifting through meaningless words. They did not matter though. He wasn't paying any attention to the words, simply using them as a distraction, for at this time his mind was elsewhere. He needed something to do.

He still grasped the book in cold fury, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears that stung his eyes. He released a shuddering breath as his grey eyes flickered around the dimly lit room. It was nearly empty, save a few vital pieces of furniture. There was a small desk beside the window he sat below, and a great bed perched in the center of the room. In the corner of the room that was a small wardrobe, and a dresser just beside. The only admirable portion of his chambers, or so the boy believed, was the magnificent bookshelf that towered beside the entrance.

The boy warily lifted his gaze as three quiet knocks sounded on the wooden door across the room. The small boy made no sound as the door creaked open slightly and candle light flooded into the room through the small opening at the doorway. Behind the candle, the boy could clearly make out a pair of shining eyes gazing at him curiously, and the large silhouette of his brother.

"Faramir." Came the low voice of Boromir beyond the doorway. "It's late." His voice was barely more than a whisper. Faramir thought he heard a hint of anger in the older boy's words. He flinched away as his brother came nearer, clutching the book desperately to his chest.

Boromir paused, his heavy footsteps now quieting. "Little brother?" Boromir's eyes became concerned and he placed the candle onto the nearby nightstand. He knew what ailed the youngest son of the Steward, who now cowered in a corner like some kind of terrified animal. Today had been their Mother's birthday .

Faramir was holding a book of Elvish poetry, huddled beneath a mass of blankets. His hair was disheveled and his eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, and while he could not be sure, Boromir wondered if the young lord had been crying.

The warrior emitted a low growl, not out of anger, and stepped forward to sit beside his brother. He sighed as he sat down, his eyes drifting towards the licking flame of the candle that danced before his eyes. They sat like that quietly for some while, each enjoying the simple presence of the other, as they watched the flickering of the flame. It was Boromir who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry Faramir." He breathed, still not averting his eyes from the candle. Boromir spoke sincerity, diverting his eyes to stare at the floor boards a few paces in before him. Faramir watched his brother, silently contemplating the truth in his words. Faramir sniffled, rubbing his eyes and feeling the heat that radiated from his cheeks. Swallowing thickly, Faramir spoke.

"It was my entire fault." His voice was barely audible, and Faramir searched for some kind of reaction from his brother, but all the older boy seemed to do was hug his knees to his chest and stare vacantly in the direction of the wall across from him. Faramir chewed his lip miserably, trembling in either sadness or fear. Perhaps even disappointment. Boromir grimaced, resting his forehead on his knees as Faramir continued. "Weak… useless. _Bl__oody_ foolish." Faramir blinked as tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. "No." And then Faramir choked back a sob. Boromir frowned, staring at the opposite wall as Farimir began to weep openly. Boromir sighed, putting a gentle arm around his brothers shaking shoulders. Pulling Faramir closer, Boromir tried to speak calming words.

"I'm sorry." Boromir whispered.

--

_The nigh__t__t__ime__ ocean, dark as pitch, rolled and swelled around him. __It__ sprayed his face with a salty mist; the waves crashed over his head, engulfing him beneath the icy waters. Cold, it was so cold. He swam blindly beneath __the crashing__ waves. The ocean gripped him with its __own __cold breath. He could not breathe, and the black depths __called to him__. He could not breathe. He could not—_

Faramir awoke with a start, sucking in a very deep breath of hair and tumbling out of his bed in a tangle of sheets. The boy blinked, rolling onto his back and breathing heavily. It was then he realized he was drenched with sweat, his nightclothes nearly soaked through. It was almost dawn, Faramir could tell, judging by the blue-gray sky just outside of his window. He groaned, pushing himself up and stumbling towards the washroom, making sure to bring a stack of clothes along with him.

Feeling refreshed and very much awake upon leaving the washroom, the young lord dressed in a simple tunic and britches and entered Boromir's chambers. Boromir, much to Faramir's chagrin, was still quite asleep. His tall form was sprawled across his mattress in a rather undignified fashion and he was snoring very loudly. Either way, he still had to come to breakfast.

Faramir cleared his throat loudly causing Boromir to stir only slightly and then once again, resume his original position. Faramir rolled his eyes, taking a few steps closer.

"Boromir!" He hissed. "Wake up you idiot sloth! Or else you'll have to explain to father why you were late to breakfast!" At this, Boromir jerked awake, blinking a few times before glaring darkly towards his little brother.

"Alright." Boromir growled. "I'm awake." Faramir left as Boromir tossed his bed sheets away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Faramir had not forgotten that his Uncle Imrahil had sent word that he was to arrive today. Faramir deemed it most appropriate, considering that the previous day had been Finduilas' birthday.

--

"Uncle!" Faramir cried, running up to greet his Uncle as he entered the Seventh Level of the White City. Dismounting his Horse, the Prince of Dol Amroth strode towards his nephews with open arms, only to be nearly trampled by Faramir who had been long awaiting for his Uncle's arrival. Prince Imrahil chuckled, tousling the small boy's fox colored hair. Faramir grinned, turning as Boromir approached, followed by his father who greeted the Prince with a brief nod and a warrior handclasp. There really was no need to be so formal.

"Valar, how you've grown!" Boromir smiled sheepishly at that comment, knowing that they hadn't seen their Uncle for almost two years. "Boromir, what are you… nearly sixteen, yes? And Faramir, eleven, am I correct?" Faramir nodded vigorously, close to bursting with excitement.

"Faramir, please settle down. Allow your Uncle some peace, he has just traveled a great distance, and is very weary. Go dress for supper. Your Uncle will still be here when you get back." Imrahil frowned, honestly not minding the presence of his young nephews, but said nothing.

"Yes, my Lord." Faramir gave a small bow before dashing off with Boromir quick on his heels.

"Come." The Lord Denethor beckoned. "I shall have someone show you to your quarters."

--

Supper consisted of much talk, sharing tales and stories of battle and lore. Boromir, having recently participated in one of his first "battles", had much to say on his own behalf, while Denethor remained mostly quiet, making comments here and there, complimenting Boromir's recent sparring victory and speaking of Gondor's continuous troubles with Osgiliath. Faramir, for the most part, had not made a sound. He quietly picked at his food, not daring to make eye contact with his father, or even speak in his presence. He'd much rather not be chastised before his Uncle's.

However his silence did not go unnoticed by the Price of Dol Amroth. He watched the young boy as Boromir spoke happily, shoveling food into his mouth as he did so.

It was a rather comical sight actually, watching Boromir attempt to eat and talk at the same time.

As supper came to an end, the Prince of Dol Amroth excused himself politely, bidding the Lord Steward a good night, and began weaving his way through the dimly lit corridors he knew rather well by now. It was relatively easy to find yourself lost in the House of the Steward, having personally run into a few dead ends himself.

Quickly, the Price came upon the chambers of his nephews, only to find Faramir already standing outside of his older brother's quarters, his hand on the doorknob, looking as if he was contemplating whether or not he should enter.

"What are you up to, young one?" Imrahil inquired. Faramir jumped at the sound of the man's voice and turned warily. Prince Imrahil noticed the pale face of his nephew glowing in the darkness, his eyes so wide it looked as if he had seen a shade. Perhaps he had.

"Uncle! I'm sorry. " Faramir grinned sheepishly. "I just meant to ask Boromir something." Faramir shifted uncomfortably, a gesture that made Imrahil frown. He then nodded sharply.

"I must speak with you both before you turn in. That is, if you don't mind."

"No. No, of course not." Faramir shook his head, allowing his Uncle to enter before him. Imrahil smiled, stepping forward and knocking gently upon Boromir's door.

"What!" Came the muffled reply. The Price of Dol Amroth pushed the door open, followed by a hesitant Farimir, and was greeted by the surprising sight of Boromir struggling to awkwardly pull his night shirt over his head. Boromir jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his Uncle.

"Valar! I thought it was only Faramir!" Boromir stumbled backwards to sit on his bed, Prince Imrahil only just noticed the lad's muscular frame. Indeed, the boy had grown. Faramir scrambled foreword to sit beside his brother, and Prince Imrahil nodded in understanding. The man paused before his two nephews, his hands clasped behind his back. He tilted his head to one side and raised and inquiring eyebrow. Faramir thought he looked rather amusing.

"I hope you both are packed." The Prince eyed them cast them an impish grin. Boromir and Faramir exchanged curious glances before turning back to their Uncle and hesitantly shaking their heads.

"Well, I suggest you begin!" Prince Imrahil exclaimed. The boys flinched in light of their Uncle's sudden outburst. He leaned in closer, his voice now barely above a whisper.

"We leave for Rivendell tomorrow."

--

Farimir yelped loudly, jumping out of the path of a rather brawny work horse, lugging a large cart of harvest crops behind it. It snorted angrily and tossed its head as it past, its hooves clopping loudly against the cobbles. Farimir clutched desperately at Boromir's tunic as the two Sons of Gondor past through the bustling city. Noisy chatter hummed around their heads and people rushed by them, eager to finish the day's errands, some nodding their heads in acknowledgment as they passed. Distinct smells wafted lazily through the air, the smell of foods, drink, animals, and medicines, all somehow meshed into one. There were men, women, children, and even stray animals roaming the streets, each going about their business. The sound of wooden wheels against the cobbles could be heard above a good portion of the chatter, though the voices of the salesmen and craftsmen rose above most, in hope of earning some coin this day.

It was summer, and the sky was clear and bright, the air crisp, showing almost no trace of the gloomy weather that had surfaced earlier this morning. The sun shone brightly above their heads and bathed the brothers in a warm light. Boromir smiled to himself, taking Faramir's hand in his own as they approached the stables.

Upon entering, they immediately found their Uncle tending to his own chestnut mare only a few rows down, just past the small tack room.

"Boys!" the man exclaimed. "Come, come, we have a long day ahead of us. I assume you both have packed?" Boromir shook his head distractedly before answering.

"Yes, last night." Boromir nodded but his attention was then won by the gray steed that whickered in the stable to his left, bobbing its head excitedly up and down. Boromir snorted, directing his attention back towards the Prince.

"Right. You have it with you." He nodded to the packs that were slung over their shoulders. "Silly question." He mumbled. "But the weather has cleared, yes? Beautiful day, beautiful day!" Boromir narrowed his eyes as his Uncle began to ramble. Obviously something was on his mind, but Boromir let the matter rest and instead quickly changing the subject.

"So what horses have you arranged for us?" he inquired, casting a cursory glance towards the gray steed. This movement, however, had not gone unnoticed by the Prince of Dol Amroth. He knew Boromir had always felt very awkward atop a horse, though perhaps this _little _trip would change those feelings.

"None." He admitted with a rather undignified shrug. Boromir gaped at him.

"You can't possibly expect us all to fit atop a single horse!?" The reaction roused a fit of laughter from the Prince.

"No! Of course not, my boy!" As his laughter subsided, leaving Boromir rather distraught, he continued. "I am sorry." He grinned and then nodded towards the gray mount. "You can use him if you like. Both of you can share one horse." Boromir glanced down for Faramir's approval who nodded eagerly, moving to read the name etched into the wood of the stable door.

"Talagor." He said, opening the stall as Boromir fetched a lead rope. They carefully lured the horse from his stall and began to prepare him for their journey. As Faramir began brushing the steed, Boromir wandered towards their Uncle who had resumed loading his own horse with supplies. Boromir patted the steed's shoulder, and it immediately twisted its head around to greet him. His Uncle then looked up from his chores and noticed his nephew standing there.

"Yes, Boromir?" he asked in a hushed tone. When Boromir didn't reply, Imrahil resumed his work and then suddenly Boromir spoke.

"Why are you bringing us to Rivendell uncle?" Boromir gazed at his uncle sadly. Imrahil frowned, considering his answer before speaking in a low voice.

"I figured you both needed a bit of a vacation." He replied. Boromir narrowed his eyes slightly, obviously not accepting his answer, but said nothing. He only nodded, and stalked off in search of a saddle and blankets.

Boromir returned with a saddle and blankets in hand, also carrying reins and a bit, which Faramir took from him without a word. It was when Imrahil finished with his own horse and made his way towards Faramir he noticed that the brothers were both clad in travel wear, Faramir in leather and a cloak, Boromir a mail shirt and leather jerkin, each bearing the crest of Gondor upon their breasts.

"Are we ready then?" he inquired, eyeing Boromir as he draped their packs over the saddle.

"Aye." He replied, lifting Faramir comfortably atop Talagor.

"And you said your farewells to everyone you wished?"

"Aye."

"Then we are ready. We shall simply lead our horses to the main gates, and be on our way. I'm assuming the Lord Denethor has already alerted the guards of your departure, so we should have no problems." He nodded and led his mount foreword. "Come quickly now, I wish to reach the border before dusk." And with that, they exited the stables.

--

Faramir gripped the gray steed's mane as he sat atop the horse. Boromir and Prince Imrahil led their mounts before him, marching defiantly through the city. Faramir could not contain his excitement, knowing their ultimate destination, yet he knew what he was leaving behind as well. He would miss all the little things that he'd never known meant everything. He frowned, absorbing the many sights of the White City as he passed them, knowing he would not be returning for some time.

"Ho' there! Guards!" Boromir called as they approached the gates. The nodded, and slowly the large stone gateway began to open. "My thanks!" He called once more as he and the Prince of Dol Amroth climbed onto their mounts. Faramir released Talagor's mane as Boromir placed his arms protectively around his younger brother.

"Hold fast, little brother." Boromir whispered into his ear as they charged after their Uncle across the great plains of Gondor. The wind whistled in his ears and whipped his hair around his face as Boromir spurred the steed onward. Faramir spared one tentative glance over his shoulder only to see the glorious White City, standing proudly in their wake.

_To be continued…_


	2. Topaz Eyes

Chapter 2: Topaz Eyes

"Are we almost there, Uncle?"

"Nearly."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Faramir sighed and sank backwards against Boromir's chest as they slowed their mounts to a comfortable pace. A similar exchange of words would take place every few hours, Faramir, always hoping to receive a different response. Though, his Uncle's reply was always the same.

_Nearly_.

Boromir tightened his arms around Faramir in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. They had been traveling for weeks now, and Boromir no longer kept track of the date, constantly having to ask his Uncle for confirmation. But they were very close to their destination; closer than any of them may've thought.

It was early August, he deemed, and the sky high above their heads was shining brightly upon their weary faces. Boromir liked the feeling of the warm sun on his back, his hair whipping around his head as he urged his grey mount into a full gallop across the long stretches of plains. He liked the freedom of sleeping beneath the stars that were scattered across the black-velvet sky, his bedroll acting as the only thing that stood between him and the raw earth. He enjoyed the silence they traveled, for he could really _hear _now. He loved how the owls called to each other in the night, and the soft wind that rustled the leaves.

And he was almost positive Faramir enjoyed it as well, despite his restlessness to finally arrive in the Valley of Imladris. They were now traveling through a densely wooded area and the leaves of the trees had a slight golden tint to them. Light filtered through the canopies above their heads and they continued for a while in companionable silence.

As the sun began to descend from its peak in the sky, Faramir glanced hopefully towards his Uncle who rode close by their side.

"Are we there yet?" The young boy sat back against his brother's broad chest, crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows. Boromir elbowed him lightly in the ribs but Faramir simply ignored him, eyeing his uncle expectantly. Prince Imrahil did not answer, and Faramir became inpatient. Boromir raised his eyebrows, loosening his grip on Talagor's reigns as Faramir leaned over and prodded his Uncle in the side. The Prince started, supposedly having been lost in his thoughts, and blinked as he attempted to compose himself. He turned towards Faramir and raised an eyebrow. Faramir repeated his question.

The Prince sighed, and nodded glumly. "I believe so." He glanced skywards towards the tree canopies that loomed above. "I'm sorry. My thoughts have been straying…elsewhere." Imrahil cast Faramir a cursory glance and grinned meekly. "But do not worry yourself over my silent musings. And besides, the sun is setting. We shall set up camp in that clearing ahead." He nodded towards the place indicated and urged his horse forward.

Boromir tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as his Uncle came to a halt within the said clearing, and hastily followed.

"Ho', Talagor." Boromir pulled awkwardly on the steed's reigns, glancing to his right where his Uncle had swiftly dismounted his own mare. Faramir patted the horse's neck before swinging his left leg over its back and hopping to the ground. Boromir quickly followed suit, just in time to catch his Uncle by his shoulder before he moved away to tend to his mount.

The Prince turned swiftly on his heel to face the young man, a grim look in his eyes. Boromir opened his mouth to speak, glancing towards Faramir who had began to lay out his bedroll and remove his outer tunic in the summer heat.

He had been waiting for the right moment to ask his Uncle this question; however, that moment had never come. It had been more than a month and he had been too cowardly to ask a simple question.

_It's because I don't want to know the answer._ He thought shamefully. His shoulders slumped as he lifted his gaze to meet that of his Uncle's. Even right wasn't the right time, but it was as good a time as any, and Boromir had become impatient. He swallowed thickly before speaking, noting that Faramir had gone suspiciously still. _He is listening._

"Why are we going to Rivendell?" Boromir hissed, his voice low enough to make sure his younger brother couldn't overhear. Boromir saw his Uncle's jaw clench tightly before he spoke.

"I figured you both needed a holiday." He breathed with a shrug as he turned on his heel, but Boromir spun him around again, his hand gripping the older man's shoulder.

"I had my duties to attend to! I had to help my father with the court and the meetings! I had military training to complete, I—" but Imrahil cut him off.

"And despite your duties, you still came along willingly, did you not?" At this, Boromir clamped his mouth tightly shut as his eyes bore into those of his Uncle's. He tightened his grip on the Prince's shoulder as he continued.

"I only came because of Faramir." He spoke in a low voice.

"And had I only taken you up on this journey, you would've insisted Faramir come along also, correct me if I'm wrong."

"You are wrong! I would've refused your offer. I would have never allowed Faramir to come on such a perilous journey!"

"Boromir, that doesn't make any sense…"

Boromir blinked once, realizing his mistake, and glared.

"…because Faramir is here now, and this journey has been far from perilous. But it was your choice to follow me on this journey, no one forced you." The Prince of Dol Amroth shrugged off Boromir's hand and turned swiftly once again as he led his mount away.

"Why can't you give me a bloody straight answer?!" Boromir cried, resisting the urge to lunge towards his relative. "What are you so afraid of?!" The Prince halted, his muscles tensing; however he did not turn to face the young man that stood fuming only a few yards away. He instead stooped at the feet of his mare and proceeded to tie her hobbles.

Boromir instead led his mount to the opposite end of the clearing and did the same, taking a short time to tend to the steed and brush the great beast down.

Sighing, Boromir moved beside Faramir and shrugged off his pack. He stripped off his leather jerkin and threw it to the ground and he began to spread out his bedroll. Faramir watched him silently, and Boromir was very aware of his eyes on him. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, the young warrior glanced in Faramir's direction awkwardly and straightened up.

"Firewood, Faramir." He prompted as he leaned over and began the task of creating a fire pit. Faramir silently nodded and hopped up, scampering towards the outskirts of their camp and began collecting dead branches and twigs. Boromir nodded in approval, and sat back to admire his handwork. Then reaching into his pack, he retrieved flint and a small hunting knife. He set them beside the fire pit and sat back on his haunches, glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Talagor who was quietly padding the soft ground with his hoof.

Boromir stood as Faramir arrived with a descent bundle of sticks in his arms. Boromir silently nodded his thanks and took the burden from Faramir's arms and he promptly began to sort them within the fire pit. He then took the flint into his hand and began to strike it with the hunting knife until he had conjured up a few bright sparks, at which point he began to nurse them carefully until they burst into flames.

The Prince of Dol Amroth joined the two brothers shortly afterwards, carrying with him two skinned rabbits hanging upon a spit. They hand hunted them earlier that day, and Boromir assumed that the man had prepared them when he had been tending to the fire.

Faramir remained quiet and watchful, probably sensing the tension between the two men, and decided to curl up in his bedroll. Boromir watched his brother affectionately; however, he started slightly as a hand lightly touched his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, and the teenager twisted around as the Prince settled down upon his own bedroll beside him.

"I'm sorry, Uncle…" came his hoarse response to the subtle touch. The Prince squeezed his shoulder gently before releasing it, and he nodded sharply, averting his eyes towards the fire. Boromir nodded as well, turning again to glance at Faramir. They stayed like this for a few moments, and Boromir was sure Faramir had fallen asleep when he finally broke the silence.

"May I see the map, Uncle?" Imrahil raised his eyebrows in response to the sudden question, but hastily nodded.

"Yes, yes, of course…" he reached over into his pack, and after a few moments of digging, he pulled out a few battered scrolls. "Here you are, lad…" He passed them off to Boromir who took them into his arms and spread them across the ground. Imrahil stood, reckoning that the rabbits were well enough to eat, placed them on a cloth he had set on the ground and began to cut them.

Boromir, picking up one scroll, traced the path they had followed with his index finger. It gave him something to do.

"Supper, Boromir." Imrahil sat down beside him and passed Boromir a plate of rabbit. It hadn't been spiced or seasoned, or salted in any way, but it would have to do.

"Here." Boromir passed his Uncle the scrolls, swallowing a large mouthful of rabbit as he did so. His Uncle chuckled, and gratefully took them, shoving them hastily in his pack. "Should we wake Faramir?"

"No, no, let him sle—" the man was cut off as many shrill howls filled the air. They were very close. Boromir shivered and inhaled a sharply. He felt his Uncle shudder beside him and Faramir stir in his sleep. All was quiet for a few moments until another sharp howl broke the tense silence, and it sounded altogether inhumane and _evil_. It echoed in the dense forest. It sounded like there were hundreds of them. Their voices seemed to mock the three humans huddled around the small campfire, their heartless laughter freezing the men's hearts with dread.

Looking into the trees surrounding them, the two warriors met dozens gleaming eyes, silently hunting them from within the shadows. A set of glowing topaz eyes stepped out from the confines of the trees. It was a massive beast, now that it had made itself visible. Its fur was pitch black and its teeth bared. Its paws were nearly the size of Boromir's hand, and a low growl erupted from its throat. After a moment, the Prince of Dol Amroth was only able to choke out only a single word.

"Wolves."

_To be continued…_


	3. Lost and Found

Chapter 2: Lost and Found

For a moment, Boromir was convinced that he would not be able to move. His limbs were frozen; useless slabs of ice clinging to his body in a desperate struggle to connect to the fear that had settled in his chest. It was when his Uncle pulled him to his feet that the fear melted away and Boromir became overwhelmed. He was angry and impatient and anxious and _ready_. His hands shook but he did not notice as he in turn helped Faramir to his feet and sandwiched the small boy in between both he and his Uncle.

Boromir swiped his sword from off from the ground where he had left it beside his bedroll, still sheathed. He pulled the sword from it sheath, not realizing in his haste that many of the massive creatures had stepped forth from the shadows. One stood only about fifteen paces away from him now. He felt behind his back to make sure Faramir was still safe, but he did not take his eyes off of the great beasts.

In turn, the wolves stared back, but they're eyes were not frightened nor were they curious. They were dark; hungry. Their ravenous eyes darted away as one of the two horses, Boromir could not see, reared and neighed, its hooves coming down heavily upon the hard earth. The second horse followed suit, and Boromir shivered, not from the cold. There _was_ a chill in the air, Boromir just noticed, that had not been present before. He tried to ignore it; however Faramir too, shivered behind him.

The horses stamped the ground noisily and thrashed in their hobbles and the particular wolf that watched Boromir took a few steps towards the horses and snarled, the fur covering his shoulders rising and his ears flattened against his head. The horses did not calm.

Slowly, the wolf turned its head back towards Boromir. He heard a long, deep howl emanate from a wolf somewhere out of his line of sight. The wolf before him did the same, tilting its head back towards the sky and releasing a similar eerie howl that seemed to resonate throughout the forest. A chorus of howls answered.

Its amber eyes narrowed, and it snapped its jaws threateningly, releasing another low growl from the pit of its stomach. Boromir's wolf suddenly lowered its head, its eyes gleaming and muscles tense. It leapt from the ground, easily gapping the distance between them. Its lips were pulled back into a snarl that revealed its frightfully sharp teeth.

Boromir had his sword at the ready and swept his arm before him in a single movement as the large wolf impaled itself onto the end of the blade. It dropped to the ground with a loud thud that made Boromir wince. Beside them, the fire still flickered quietly offering them necessary light. It acted as a barrier between them and the ever looming shadow.

Boromir grimaced as he wrenched his sword from the wolf's body. He heard his Uncle's sword cut through flesh as he too was attacked, and when Boromir heard the animal's strangled cries he knew it was slain. Another chorus of howls rose into the air and Boromir could feel his palms begin to sweat and his sword slip from within his grasp, but he steadied it, holding it instead with both hands.

It was then Talagor tossed his head back and screamed, bucking his hind legs and breaking away from the hobbles. The horse raced into the darkness, and with a snarl, one of the wolves chased after him. Boromir would have been worried but there was no time as another wolf lunged towards him, and Boromir just barely evaded it. He wasted no time to plunge his sword into the wolf's side. From all directions now the wolves came at him and his fears were eased slightly when he heard his Uncle working to fend off the vile beasts at his back. He knew then that Faramir was still safe.

It was when sudden rush of cold wind came upon his back that he began to panic, along with the dreadful realization that there no longer was anyone standing behind him. He moved to twist around, but strong jaws locked around his forearm and prevented him from doing so. He felt the wolf's sharp teeth bruise his skin and tear through the flesh. He cried out as he was yanked to the ground. He put an arm out to break his fall, but it was no use as it collapsed beneath his weight and he landed heavily on the side of his face.

The great wolf tugged at his forearm and meant to thrash its head about, but Boromir tensed his arm and tried to pull away. It was hopeless. The animal was far too strong and his arm began to throb. He grunted in pain as he scrambled to take up his fallen sword with his free hand.

Boromir heard his Uncle cry out in pain, and Faramir's shouts. Boromir pace quickened visibly. He twisted around and crawled onto his knees. He stabbed his blade into the creature's neck angrily, and it loosened its grip on his arm. Boromir pulled away and staggered to his feet, his eyes frantically searching the clearing.

He saw his Uncle sprawled on the ground; a deep gash tore across his brow and another across shoulders. His chest too, was dark with blood. Boromir saw Faramir, his small blade drawn and at the ready. The boy did not yet know how to properly defend himself and had never once killed a living thing. Faramir then fell to his knees beside the fallen man, and Boromir wondered why Faramir was so willing to drop his guard.

And then he realized that the chill had left the air. The wolves were… gone. They had disappeared, and after a short moment of silence due to Boromir's awe, he noticing also that their fire had dimmed. He was shaking, but he did not realize until his sword hell from his hand. Blood was seeping through his own fingers as he stumbled towards his Uncle. He knelt beside Faramir whose blade was strewn to the side.

A wave of silence had crashed over them, and Boromir's ears had stopped ringing with the sounds of battle. The horse had gone silent and the low snarls and growls of the wolves had died away. All there was to be heard was his Uncle's ragged breathing and Faramir's quiet weeping. Boromir took the little boy's face into his hands.

"Are you alright Faramir?" His voice was urgent. Faramir only nodded, pulling away from his brother's touch. Boromir would've liked to embrace his younger brother, but the boy's eyes were distant. He was distracted.

"Faramir, pack up and ready the horse. Quickly now!" He urged his younger brother. Boromir returned his attention to his Uncle, moving his hands over the man's body carefully. He knew nothing about the art of healing, save for some he learned in military training. He could do nothing for his Uncle, but he guessed the man had broken his ribs judging by the way he breathed. That was no good. The man was obviously in no condition to travel. But they had to travel anyway. Far away. Away from here.

And then it struck him, almost literally, as the wind was nearly knocked out of him. For a moment he could not breathe. His Uncle was lying here bruised and broken before him. The man was not going to get any better on his own. He would not awake and point them in the right direction. The Prince was not dead. At least not yet, but as far as Boromir was concerned, they were alone.

Boromir exhaled slowly, moving behind his Uncle's shoulders to support his head, and then, very gently eased him into a sitting position. Then he realized he did not yet know the extent of his Uncle's injuries and should not have moved him at all. But it could not be helped. He supported the tall man's frame against his chest, but he did not try to stand. Instead, he called over his shoulder to check on Faramir's progress. Faramir had packed up their supplies and loaded Imrahil's mare with their bags. They did not have much. The horse, however, seemed restless and Boromir was saddened by the thought of Talagor. He did dwell on the subject any longer as Faramir led the horse to where he and Prince Imrahil sat.

"Thank you, Faramir." His voice was weaker than he would've liked, but he offered the boy a slight smile all the same. Faramir only nodded in response, his eyes concerned. "I don't know how I'm going to get him up." Boromir shook his head and placed a protective arm around his Uncle's shoulders.

"I know how." Faramir's voice was small, but sure. Faramir moved around to the other side of the horse, and Boromir could not see what he was doing. The boy whispered something, but Boromir could not make out the words. He guessed it was some kind of elvish. It didn't matter though, because slowly the mare lowed herself to her knees, and Faramir seemed pleased with himself. Boromir raised his eyebrows and Faramir shrugged.

"Uncle taught me."

"Oh." Those were the only words exchanged between the two brothers, and Boromir carefully draped his Uncle over the animal's back. Boromir too, put a leg over the horse and positioned himself so that his Uncle rested again his chest, and his arms were wrapped around the injured man's chest, holding the horse's reins.

"Faramir, do you think she can stand up?" Faramir nodded and patted the mare's shoulder gently, whispering a short command in Sinadrin, slowly the animal regained her footing and Boromir adjusted his position slightly. He offered Faramir a hand, and the boy gladly took it, hoisting himself over the back of the horse. The mare snorted beneath their weight and Boromir leaned forward carefully to pat her neck. "We need to leave here, quickly. Forget the fire. Maybe it will distract them." Maybe not. The wolves are good trackers. "Hold on, Faramir." Boromir instructed, and Faramir obeyed, wrapping his arms around his big brother's waist.

With that, they left the campsite, though not at as fast a pace as Boromir would've liked. His Uncle was badly injured and the mare carried a great burned upon her back. Still, they rode deeper into the forest, the moonlight acting as their guide. The leaves now bore a silverfish tint and the stars above their head were bright.

Boromir knew not where they were headed. But he would not stop… not until the light shone through the canopies above their head. Not until dawn.

Faramir had fallen asleep, his head resting against Boromir's back. All was quiet, save for the crunching of leaves beneath the mare's hooves, and his Uncle's rough, ragged breathing. At least he _is_ breathing, thought Boromir. The boy had not realized until just now how horribly his forearm hurt. He did not know if it still bled. The encounter with the wolves seemed as if it had taken place ages ago. He probably should've bandaged what wounds he could. However, there had been no time.

It was not long before the skies above began to turn a paler shade of blue. Boromir exhaled slowly. His eyes drooped and his head ached terribly. His chest burned with every breath he took and his limbs were so heavy.

His face was pressed against something hard. His eyes were… closed. Boromir could not recall closing his eyes, but now he could not open them. He almost did not want to. He realized that the rest of his body made contact with that same hard surface. What was this force, this wall, pushing against him? His spinning thoughts finally came into focus, and Boromir felt the earth beneath him. He had fallen.

Boromir heard hushed voices, speaking some kind of elvish , he guessed, but did not dwell on the thought for too long. He was far too tired. And the light hurt his eyes, even though they were not open. Or were they open? Boromir did not know. He could not feel his arms or legs, but his head hurt terribly and he was cold. He could not find the strength to speak. He had meant to ask if it was Faramir who was speaking that fair speech. And he remembered his Uncle. There was something important he need to do, but he could not remember what it was.

The foreign murmurs died away, and he was lifted from the cold, hard earth. He was being carried… he knew that much. The arms that supported him were strong, and for a moment he felt like a small boy. Boromir longed to open his eyes… but he could not. He did not. He was comfortable the way he was. He did not want to move. His head spun again, and now he was sitting, on a horse maybe, leaning against someone's chest, his head resting against someone's shoulder. Uncle? Boromir thought.

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, and as for the rest, Boromir could not recall.

_To be continued… _


	4. Of Hope and Healing

A/N: I do not own Lord of the Rings. Finley and Kroy (and later Darrin) are my own original characters. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3: Of Hope and Healing

He heard hushed voices. He heard noise, but it registered in his own mind as no more than a distant buzzing. He did not know who was speaking, or what was making that noise but it did not matter to him, as the noise was not unpleasant or loud. He was not even aware he was hearing any noise at all. He was just… floating. Everything became nothing and nothing mattered.

It was not until a few moments later that he became aware of the firm mattress beneath him. His whirling thoughts focused and steadied themselves. He could distinctly feel every part of his body that made contact with the mattress that supported him; the backs of his legs, his arms, his shoulders, the heels of his feet. He felt calm, very at ease with himself; he had nothing to worry about. He was safe. _Safe_.

_Faramir! Uncle!_

He had to get up _now_. He had no choice in the matter. He had to help them. He had to make sure they were safe. His thoughts again began to race. He wanted desperately to open his eyes but they were so heavy. His limbs felt like lead and he suddenly became aware of his throbbing head. He whimpered, his fingers twitching just the slightest, and he felt the soft fabric of the sheets beneath his fingertips. Slowly, he brought a heavy hand to his head and scrubbed at his face, and rubbed at his gritty eyes.

"He's waking!" He heard a familiar voice.

"Really?"

"Do you think he's alright?"

"Of course, he's waking up!"

"Aye, but he looks like he's gonna be sick…"

"Well, maybe he is…?" And uneasy silence followed these words. It was Boromir who broke the silence.

" Mmnasih…" His murmured words were unintelligible. He opened his eyes hesitantly, at first cringing away from the light and sinking ubeneath the bed sheets. He squinted and his eyes stung as they began to adjust to the light. His vision was slightly blurred and again he rubbed at his eyes.

"Boromir, are you alright?" It was that voice again. Faramir. The boy had crawled onto the bed beside him and was watching him with concerned eyes. At the end of the bed he could make out two other figures, both eyeing him warily. Boromir sniffed and cleared his throat.

"I'm not sick." He repeated his earlier words, surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was dry and raspy and froggish, and it also cracked on the second word. Boromir was not so sure if there was any truth in his own words. In all honesty, he felt rather hung over. His head pounded and his throat was dry, there was a most unpleasant sour taste in his mouth. He grimaced, however, the boys at the foot of his bed visibly relaxed at this statement. The smaller one with dark hair nodded.

"I'll get Lord Elrond." And with that the boy ran off, leaving the taller freckle-faced boy alone. Boromir studied him for a moment, his vision now cleared and his eyes adjusted. He was tall, and of a lean, muscular build. His auburn hair was loosely tied back, some of it falling in front of his sharp eyes. Those eyes, as far as Boromir could tell, were green… or maybe gray. His skin was slightly tanned despite the freckles , and his rounded nose and strong jaw line were perhaps his most prominent features.

His head was tilted to the side only slightly and his eyes were curious. He was frowning, his brow creased as if he were pondering something. He was fiddling with some small trinket he held in his hands, but Boromir could not see what that was either. He turned his head to look at Faramir and gave the little boy a confused look. He managed a weak smile, and Faramir smiled in return.

Boromir could see now that he was in a healing ward of sorts, surrounded by many unnoccupied beds covered with clean, white sheets and patches of sunlight shining on the ivory white walls. The open windows were large and Boromir found it hard to distinguish what was indoors, and what was outdoors. It was a peaceful place, and it looked as if it was of elvish craft. _Elvish_.

"Faramir?" He questioned the boy beside him. "Are we in… ?" His brother nodded wordlessly and Boromir took a deep breath, trying to remember all that had happened before he lost consciousness. But he could not remember. He could not concentrate and it all like a fading dream. He could not _concentrate_. Boromir became frustrated and sighed audibly. The boy at the end of his bed was still watching him, but Boromir tried to ignore him, instead staring at the flat ceiling above. He could hear faint laughter, and distant chattering in that fluid, foreign tongue. He could hear music, and joyful merry making outside these light walls, and this confused Boromir. He tried not to pay attention to the pleasant smells that floated in through the windows. They smelled of sweets and pastries and fruit, and Boromir then realized how hungry he actually was. He was thirsty as well, but said nothing. His eyes focused again on the boy at the foot of his bed.

"Who are you?" Boromir asked, his eyes skeptical but somewhat curious. He was glad to hear that his voice was stronger this time around. The boy smiled at his question and dipped his head slightly.

"Kroy of Breeland." He spoke in a slow, matured voice; however Boromir barely had time to consider the name when a tall, elegant man entered the room followed by the small dark haired boy he had seen earlier. Upon the man's very long dark hair was a silver circlet. Boromir wondered if this man was a king of sorts, or if not that, some kind of royalty. His face was ageless, his clear gray eyes thoughtful, and his ears… pointed? Boromir gasped softly. An elf! He opened his mouth, but found no useful words to say. Instead he turned to Faramir. The boy had already hopped off of the bed and was eagerly eyeing the elf.

"Lord Elrond!" Faramir beamed. The elf lord returned the smile, and nodded in recognition towards Kroy. He hurried over beside Boromir's bed and placed a gentle, practiced hand upon the boy's brow. Boromir pulled away from the elf's touch and eyed him nervously. "Where's my Uncle?" His tone was low and cautious. "What happened? What's going on?" He glanced around. "How did I get here?" These next few questions were more urgent and his anxiety was evident in his voice. When he at first received no answer, Boromir swallowed, wondering if he had said something wrong. Then he realized he was speaking to the Lord of Imladris. This was the great elf his Uncle had mentioned. Boromir clenched his jaw and lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my lord."

"Look at me, child." Boromir hesitantly obeyed, meeting Lord Elrond's penetrating gaze. "It is alright to be concerned for your Uncle. I shall tell you what you wish to know." He turned towards the two boys standing off to the side. "Thank you for looking after Faramir." Lord Elrond smiled.

Kroy and the smaller boy both muttered a short 'you're welcome' before bowing slightly and hurrying out of the healing ward. Faramir again had crawled onto the bed beside his older brother, and the Lord of Imladris began to speak.

"Your Uncle will live." Boromir released the breath he had been holding. "We have cleaned and dressed his wounds," Elrond continued, "And as we speak he is resting. He should be on his feet in a matter of days." Boromir released another shuddering breath. "He is not here, as you can obviously see, but instead in a more private area. I would see that he rests, and you both be alerted when he awakes."

"Thank you…" He felt Faramir squeeze his shoulder gently. Lord Elrond nodded and continued.

"You slept for one whole day. Here in Imladris a festival is occuring, and all races are invited from all of middle earth to come and take part in the celebrations. It is a week of fun and entertainment, and we do hope our guests enjoy the festivities." Elrond grinned, giving Boromir a moment to mull that over. "Both of your horses were found by a scouting party organized by Lord Glorfindel as they were returning home for the festival. Earlier that same scouting party had had come across the party from Lorien, and were escorting them to Imladris. Not far from where they discovered your horses, they found you." Boromir momentarily wondered if that meant they had found Talagor as well.

"Your Uncle was unconscious and close to death. You had fallen from your horse due to exhaustion. You had hit your head and received a concussion. Faramir, however, was conscious when the scouting party came to your aid. He had sprained his wrist because of the fall, but was very awake." Lord Elrond eyed the little boy.

"I was keeping watch." Faramir chimed in. A smile played on Boromir's lips, and Lord Elrond continued.

"And you did a very good job of it, young one." Elrond praised, flashing the boy a smile. "He also informed us of your encounter with wolves." Boromir nodded slowly. "We bound the wound on your forearm. It should heal quickly. Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood carried you upon his horse to Imladris." Lord Elrond finished with a short nod.

Boromir blinked.

"I got to ride with the Lady Galadriel, Boromir!" Faramir was grinning, and Boromir frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. He heard Elrond chuckle and Boromir cast him a cursory glance. He did not know who these elves were. Unlike his father, Boromir was not skilled in the art of lore. Faramir seemed to grasp the roots his confusion.

"Remember, Boromir? We learned about Lorien in our lessons." Boromir blinked again. "Lothlorien? The Golden Wood?" Faramir tried. Still, he got no response from Boromir. "It's a forest realm; a dwelling of the elves. A refuge of sorts." Faramir looked towards Lord Elrond who nodded in approval.

"And those boys that were here?" Boromir prompted.

"Those boys you met were Kroy and Finley of Breeland, a man dwelling town west of this valley. I ordered them to look after your brother as both you and your Uncle were incapable watching him yourselves. They are here with their families. I also hoped you might get along. The race of man does not often attend this festival." Elrond smiled kindly and Boromir jumped when another elf appeared by his side.

"Thank you Erestor." The elf called Erestor dipped his head and Boromir eyed him curiously. He had brought some kind of herbal tea, and bread, and cheese along with it. "I would have you drink the tea first," Lord Elrond said. "And I know you must be hungry."

"Yes, sir." He nodded eagerly, licking his lips at the sight of food. He was tempted to swallow it all right this second, but restrained himself, carefully taking sipping the tea instead. It was alright; very hot, and sweetened with a bit of honey. It was obviously some sort of medicinal tea, but as long as it was not as terrible tasting as the sort they gave him in Minis Tirith, Boromir did not mind so much. Even so, he still thanked the elf, Erestor, as he departed from the healing ward.

"Now," Lord Elrond watched Boromir intently. "The festival began yesterday, and we finished lunch about an hour ago. Your concussion is minor, however it probably feels far worse than it actually is," Boromir lifted a hand to feel the bandage on the side of his head, "And the wound on your arm has been stitched. I would advise you to not put too much stress on it unless you wish to tear the stitches. You have slept for a sufficient period of time, and I believe that once you have eaten you will be well enough to enjoy the festival. However I encourage very little physical activity for the next day or so due to your concussion. If you become hungry at some point in between now and supper, there is no shame in asking for directions to the kitchens. Faramir, I'm sure will be able to show you your room, and when you feel that you are able, you may leave. "

"Thank you, my lord." Lord Elrond smiled and nodded before turning swiftly on his heel. Boromir watched the elf as he strode from the room, his footsteps barely making a sound upon the smooth floor. Boromir set his tea off to the side, only having finished half of it, and took the bread into his hands, tearing a piece off with his teeth. He chewed eagerly, finishing the bread very quickly and then began nibbling the cheese. Even this simple food tasted wonderful. Faramir watched him as he ate and Boromir became slightly uncomfortable.

"You _have_ eaten Faramir… ?"

"Yes." Faramir nodded. There was a brief silence before Faramir spoke again. "I think he brought us here because of the festival."

Boromir nodded, nibbling at the cheese some more. "Aye." There was silence again, and Boromir listened to the celebrations outside. "Are you having fun?"

"Yes!" Faramir exclaimed happily, but suddenly frowned. "I was just… distracted." Boromir nodded in understanding. All of this just seemed so surreal. It just didn't make any sense that they were in _Imladris_. Boromir did not understand how that in so far away Gondor men fought and died for their country. How every day, the shadow grew closer and Gondor's defenses grew weaker along with his father's reign. While at the same time, Imladris celebrates.

Boromir suddenly realized that he had finished all of the cheese. He looked at Faramir, his gaze confused and somewhat lost.

"What do they celebrate?" Faramir returned Boromir's gaze, the same confusion evident in his eyes. This time there was a long silence. Neither brother said anything, as nothing was needed to be said between them. Faramir's eyes had become distant, and Boromir was surprised when he finally spoke.

"I think… I think they celebrate… hope."

Boromir spoke no more, wordlessly standing upon wobbly legs and quickly dressing himself with the clothing that was folded at the foot of his bed. It was a just a simple tunic, breeches, boots, and a belt. All of his other belongings, Faramir informed him, were in his room. Boromir was clean and his hair had been washed. He did not need any weapons, nor did he need anything from his pack. There was a brush beside his bed in the healing ward, and he quickly tidied himself up. The pain in his head had been reduced to only a dull throbbing, almost barely noticeable, and for that Boromir was grateful. Faramir took hold of his older brother's hand and led him out of the healing wing, into the festival.

_To be continued…_


End file.
